a common cold
by emptyvessels
Summary: In which a very ill Jemma doesn't find Fitz to be a suitable caretaker.


Written for my lovely friend Jenn. Also posted on AO3. I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

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><p>"Do you honestly think you're going to get any better running around this lab all day, infecting everything?!" Fitz finally snapped, unable to take the sound of his partner's sneezing any longer. "You're going to get me sick."<p>

"I hope I do," Jemma replied, the venom in her tone translating as slightly less threatening through a stuffy nose. She clutched the arm of her microscope. "I'm pretty sure you are the reason I'm feeling this way to begin with, what with that head cold you had last week! Sneezing all over the place like a child on the first day of flu season!"

"That was not a head cold," he explained for the hundredth time. "Those were allergies brought on by that stupid perfume you were wearing. We've been over this! You've stopped wearing it-"

"Because I mysteriously, all of a sudden, can't find it anywhere!" she tried to shout over him, but to no one's surprise, Fitz kept on rambling.

"And suddenly, I've stopped sneezing! Imagine that!" he exclaimed, resting a hand on his hip as he leaned back against a counter.

"You stopped because head colds typically only last about a week or so," Jemma bit back a still half-hearted attempt at trying to sound authoritative. "There is no way you suddenly developed an allergy to a perfume I've been wearing for ages, an allergy in which the symptoms areidentical to those of a common cold," she crossed her arms and turned away, refocusing her attention to her microscope. "Just admit you got me sick and apologize, already."

"Oh, you know - stop changing the subject! You're a mess and need to get yourself into bed."

She turned to him again and narrowed her eyes defiantly. "I'm well enough to keep working, Fitz. Leave it alone."

"Bed. Now," he added, his tone sharp and demanding.

And, for perhaps the first time since either of them could remember, a defeated Jemma Simmons left a laboratory in the middle of the day.

"If I didn't know for a fact that it is highly improbable to get even more sick by trying to relax, I would be blaming you right now," Jemma groaned, burying her head beneath her pillow; a long, strained sound that reminded Fitz of the time he got food poisoning during a trip to London.

"It sort of sounds like you're still blaming me for it, anyway," quipped Fitz, leaning over the end of her bed to help properly dispose of her shoes.

She peered up at him from beneath her nest made of linen and fluff and let out a thick cough before she could think up a clever enough comeback, which only led her into a fit of coughs.

Fitz began to rub gentle circles into her back with one hand while stroking the back of her head with the other, but she flinched and pulled away, retreating further beneath her comforter.

A soft knocking at the door caught the attention of them both. Skye slid the entrance open and poked her head inside, frowning as soon as she got a good look at the scientist.

"Hey, Simmons. How're you feeling?" Skye asked, sympathetic.

Jemma frowned as well, another low groan emitting from deep within her.

"I hate to say this, but you look terrible. Even worst than Fitz did last week," Skye said, receiving an icy glare from the engineer.

"I was not ill last week!"

Ignoring his whining, Skye smiled at Jemma reassuringly. "Anyway, I hope you feel better. Let me know if you need anything. I mean, it looks like Fitz is taking perfectly good care of you-," another grunt; Skye laughed before continuing, "-but, whatever, you know where to find me. Look at the bright side. At least you're not dying this time, huh?" she laughed before darting away and sliding the door shut.

Fitz stifled a laugh and turned his attention back to Jemma, who had finally fully emerged from deep within the cotton cavern she'd created for herself. She looked completely disheveled; her hair a tangled mess, her already pale skin an even whiter shade of white, her full lips cracked and blistered. He could tell that although she probably had no idea how frazzled she looked, she was still growing uncomfortable under his gaze, but he was unable to look away.

How he could still manage to be so captivated by someone even when they looked their absolute worst boggled his mind to the point where he almost wanted to retreat back to the lab out of frustration to be alone, but he learned long ago to not question Jemma Simmons, or anything pertaining to her.

"Go back to work, Fitz. You don't need to take care of me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

He raised an eyebrow and flashed her a tiny smile. "Ah, come on, even the great Dr. Simmons could use a little looking after sometimes."

"Fitz, I'm going to be fine. Stop worrying."

"I know you're going to be fine, but don't tell me not to worry about you."

"Fitz, go. Please. I want to be alone."

Fitz feigned a hurt expression, holding his hand to his heart. "Why are you refusing my help? Do you not find me suitable as a doctor?"

For the first time all day, Jemma cracked a smile. It may have been smug, but it was a smile. "No, actually. I don't find you to be qualified to care for me at all."

"That hurts, Jemma. That physically and emotionally wounds me."

"Good. If I have to be miserable, so do you."

"And why is that? You don't even want me around," he replied, leaning over to grab a hold of the other side of her sheets so that he could pull them back up around her chest. "You find my presence here overbearing and annoying."

"To be fair, you are always those things, Fitz," she said, smiling again. Her voice still sounded pretty shaky, and Fitz was starting to feel guilty for allowing her to speak so much.

"Alright, say no more," he surrendered as he finished tucking her in again. "Just rest up and get better already. I'm not going to get nearly as much work done without you down there to nag me about it."

He stood and turned to gather up the things he'd brought with him and left on her counter; a thermometer she wouldn't let him use and the cough syrup she refused to take. But before he could even make it to the door, he felt a small hand reach out to wrap weakly around his own. He smiled at the brief contact and turned around to look at his partner, still bundled up in bed save for the arm that had managed to escape.

"Be a friend and fetch me something else to drink, at least? In case I get thirsty again?" she asked, her voice quiet and polite. "Please?"

Grabbing her nearly-empty water glass from the table beside her bed, he nodded slightly and left her bunk. When he returned a few minutes later with a cold glass of water, a freshly brewed cup of tea and a box of crackers, she was already fast asleep. He put down the hot mug and crackers and sat at the edge of her bed again, watching her for a moment as she slept.

Leaning forward, he placed a gentle hand to her forehead and then the side of her face, worried slightly at just how warm she was. This was just a head cold and his concern was pretty silly, but he never could stand the sight of Jemma weak or uncomfortable or upset. A pretty silly weakness of his own. She was almost unrecognizable.

"You need to get better," he whispered aloud.

He stayed by her side for a few more minutes before finally bringing himself to let her sleep in peace. Before heading back to the lab, he decided to leave her comms on in her room and placed it on her bedside table, right next to the tea. That way, he'd be able to keep his on in the lab and hear if she woke and needed anything. He ignored the voice in his head that told him he was being overprotective; Jemma was capable of taking care of herself (not to mention, she'd kill him if she ever found out about it), but given their experiences in the past few months alone, he would much rather play it too safe than be sorry.

Jemma Simmons woke an hour later to distant sound of humming. A familiar tune, though it is one she couldn't quite put her finger on right away. But even in her ill and disoriented state, she recognized the voice as Fitz's. For a moment, she felt angry that he was still hovering over her even after she'd asked him to leave but soon enough, as she regains full consciousness and is able to open her eyes, she finds that he is nowhere to be seen.

She searched her room for the source of the sound until her eyes land on the communication piece sitting on the table next to her bed. Fitz must have intended to leave it on to keep tabs on her, but the tech-savvy fool had left the settings on reverse and not realized it.

She replenished herself by downing the glass of now room temperature water he had left for her, knowing very well that if she was going to get any better, she had to keep herself hydrated. As she drank, she stared at the tiny piece of technology sitting on her table and considered briefly what she would do about it. She could turn the switch so that he could have an audio feed of her, but seeing as she was fine and intended on going back to bed again soon, he would be hearing nothing, anyway.

She could also confront him about it, but that required using up energy and strength she didn't really have. Just sitting up and having a drink of water was draining enough. The room was starting to spin again. She needed to lie down.

Decidedly too amused at his blunder and too touched by his intentions to be fully angry, she smiled to herself and crawled back into bed and allowing herself to fall asleep to the sound of Fitz talking to himself down in the lab, his incomprehensible ramblings a soothing comfort.


End file.
